Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I LOVE YOU, I'M SORRY part one, chapter eleven. none the richer. —
OCTOBER 29, 2005 - WELLSBORO, PA
"Even if we let you leave, they would never discharge you," Gideon announced across the the hospital room. For the past hour, Molly and Spencer had been going back and forth over him getting her discharged from the hospital, which led to Spencer calling Gideon in for backup.
"I am fine," Molly argued, her words pointed.
Spencer shook his head, "Molly, you are being held together by stitches and glue. You're safer here."
"This motherfucker gutted me and is going to do everything in his power to hurt you guys. His sister died in the college murders... he blames me. And he will take it out on you," Molly sniffled slightly. "The first night in the hotel... Elle told me I was the only one who could catch him. But I needed to lean on the team. So this is me leaning on the team. Get me out of here," she said as she tugged on her IV drip, "and let's go catch this son of a bitch."
—
Spencer's fingers brushed along her rib cage as she limped into the police station. She was quite literally leaning on him, her hand forming a tight fist around the shoulder of his button up shirt. "What the hell is she doing here?" Murphy questioned as they walked in the door.
Molly looked horrible. To not rub against the wound, she wore a rolled up tank top and sweatpants. Part of her abdomen was visible, mostly the gnarly scar of stitches that curled from the center of her stomach to the front of her ribs like a mutilated crescent. The wound wasn't as large as they had all been expecting. It was maybe six inches long uncurled, but it was a beastly thing. Her skin was red and inflamed, crusted blood still hanging around the surface, and her stitches poked out like unwanted guests.
"We're finishing the case," Molly said, her other hand clutched around her bag. It was filled with her bag of belongings from the hospital, as well as all of her medication. She was more hurt than her face suggested. Despite the numbing powers of the medication, she was in excruciating pain. It felt like satan was tap dancing on her ribs, and she wanted nothing more than to fall over in the floor and die. But she didn't have that option.
Hotch shook his head as he stood at Murphy's side. "You're not supposed to be out of bed. You're not going out in the field."
"You can barely walk," Garcia added in a concerned voice as she rushed to the blonde's side.
Spencer and Garcia helped Molly into a seat. A small groan escaped her lips, but she held up her hand as a way of telling them to not say anything. "I'm not saying I'm fine. To tell you the truth, I'd rather someone deck me and knock me back out. But we don't get to do that right now." She adjusted her sitting position, hand squeezing the edge of the table as it felt like she had been stabbed yet again. A shaky breath breezed past her lips as her eyes fluttered, head spinning. After a moment, she opened her eyes, speaking as clearly as she could. "We have less than forty-eight hours until Halloween night. If we don't catch him before then, he's going to slaughter as many innocent people as he can. And he will never leave me alone if we don't catch him."
